Atlantis: The King's Return

Atlantis: The King's Return | 5

No desire sparked. No attraction flared. Nothing.

Even the tumbling black hair that surrounded her angular face was undesirable—and Ambrose had always loved hair.

Her eyes burned with malice, and she reached out, slapping him across the face. His head snapped to the side. He cracked his jaw, absorbing the shock.

"Sit up, you filthy bastard," she purred, the sudden calm washing over her giving him reason to be wary.

He did as he was told, bracing himself on his elbows and leaning forward—until the flash of blonde from behind Ceto caught his eye. He tried to keep the alarm out of his expression.

Damnit, he'd told the woman to leave! Couldn't she follow one simple order? He was risking his life for her, though against his will, and she was just going to test the waters of how well she could play cat and mouse with them? He snarled, catching the attention of Ceto again.

"Someone is feisty tonight." She slinked forward, letting her leg slip through the slit that ran up the center of her dress—if you could even call it that. The strip of clothing wrapped around her body, and that was all there was to it. "Are you hungry?" she asked, taking a nibble of the salmon in front of him.

What he wouldn't give to shove that whole thing down thing down her throat and watch her choke on it...

If only he had the strength.

Ambrose had, at one point. And of course, Ceto had stripped him of it all. Thousands of years, and she still had the same hold on him as she'd had the day he'd been sentenced to exile.

"Yes," he murmured, going along with her little game only for the sake of the mortal. Keep Ceto busy, and maybe the woman had a chance of being unnoticed. At the second flash of blonde, though, he wanted to growl and shout at her to stay hidden.

His heart pounded as Ceto came closer, the beating group of arteries slamming against his ribs, cutting off his breath. If anything happened to the blonde, he didn't know what he'd do. An innocent mortal, caught in a two thousand year old game between a goddess and an exiled merman. Exactly what he needed to spice up his life—not.

Ceto smiled, taking his jaw in her hand again, smoothing her fingers over the marks she'd just left. "Of course you are, my poor darling." She forced his mouth open with her fingers, tearing off a piece of salmon with her teeth and then pressing her lips to his, giving him only a bite of the salmon.

His gag reflexes worked overtime on trying to hold down the bile that rose in his throat. It was always the same. Every time he had to be fed, he was fed by mouth. And as if that didn't get her off enough, she nicked his lip with a sharp fang, taking a slip of his blood.

Ambrose looked to the ceiling, praying that common sense had kicked the mortal in the head and sent her back to the shore, away from Ceto.

His breath caught. A sharp, tingling pain shot down his spine, robbing him of every sense except the agony that was building in his hips. Through the pain and transformation, he realized what was happening.

Ceto was giving him his legs, if only for a moment. How many years had it been since he'd felt the pleasure-pain that he was now? Exhilaration coursed through him— right before her hand landed on his cock. Disgust rolled through him in waves.

His Akrina buzzed at his side, whispering, "Bitch die. She drown. Then Human help escape, yes."

He exhaled, willing it to leave his side. The Akrina dimmed with displeasure before buzzing away. The remainder of its light filled the room, the only reason he could see Ceto.